


If My Love Could Keep You Alive

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Men Crying, Post-Episode: s04e18 Skip, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He won't tell you, so I will. Look after him for me.</i>
</p><p>John gets to find out what he missed. (4x18 Skip)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If My Love Could Keep You Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Vienna Teng's _[Enough to Go By](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVw8oWrHKEQ)_.

He left the precinct about an hour later, after some more kissing and a promise to call Iris first thing tomorrow. He finally checked his phone. No update from Harold, but there was a message from Root.

 

_He won't tell you, so I will. Look after him for me._

 

The attachment was of a hospital treatment record for Professor Whistler.

 

\---

 

Finch looked awful, but he made an effort to sound cheerful and businesslike as John walked down the steps.

 

"Mr. Reese, there you are. If the Machine is recruiting, we need to-"

 

Finch trailed off when he looked at John properly. John was trying his best to reign in his anger, but maybe his poker face wasn't that great after all.

 

"Finch, what is this?" He approached the computers and showed Harold the message.

 

Finch barely glanced at it. He shoved the phone away from him with a scowl. "That woman is determined to ruin me today."

 

"What did she _do_?"

 

Elbow on the desk, Finch rested his forehead on his hand and quietly, hesitantly explained. John felt the cold, aching feeling in his gut intensify with every word. By the time Harold had described what happened to Beth and his sending Root away again, John was crouching by the side of his chair, palm resting between Finch's shoulder blades, rubbing back and forth minutely. The flow of words stuttered to a halt as his voice cracked, tears swimming behind his lenses. John slumped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the man.

 

John could feel himself trembling, with fear and anger in equal amounts. "Why didn't you tell me?" He murmured, plaintively.

 

Harold sniffed, half-muffled in John's collar. He hadn't moved his hands to hug John back. "Because you were finally happy..."

 

The lump in John's throat solidified into a block of coal. For a moment he couldn't breathe. So Harold knew. About him and Iris. So much for keeping secrets. He should have left his phone on his desk. Gently, he sat back on his heels and ended the hug.

 

"Finch, this isn't fair."

 

"No, it isn't." He sighed, bitterly. There was pain and exhaustion etched around his eyes, in the lines of his forehead, in the tear which he hastily swiped from the end of his nose with his finger.

 

John hated everything about this situation, vehemently. He wanted to hunt Root down for doing this to Finch, but his loyalty to Shaw would never allow him to hurt Root, now. And it would be hypocritical when he was hurting Finch just as much. But it wasn't....Finch had been the one to suggest they see other people. John should have guessed it, right then. Harold's death wish rising to the fore as he pushed John away. Yet Harold had seemed so happy, with Beth. His voice and face just glowed whenever he mentioned chatting with her online. And John had taken it on good faith, and...given himself permission to explore his own feelings for Iris. He hadn't known Harold was becoming so consumed with guilt that he was planning to sacrifice himself.

 

"Harold...I really like Iris. But I don't know her that well yet. I'm not sure where this is going, and even if we can make something of it...she's not more important to me than you are."

 

Finch shut his eyes, shook his head a tiny amount, swallowed painfully. "You mustn't say that."

 

John tried to keep a check on his temper. Harold had been through enough today, he didn't need to be shouted at as well. "If you'd died today because I didn't know you were in danger, when I could have helped but you left me out of the loop-"

 

Finch cut across him, suddenly animated, irate. "After Joss, Sameen? I don't trust myself to keep you safe. If I died taking down Samaritan, you would be free. To have a normal life. Children, John, everything you've -"

 

John's hand shot out and squeezed Harold's, tightly. "If you die there is no me, Finch. We lose you, we lose everything." He'd said it before, plenty of times, but never to Harold's face. He should have done. Maybe they wouldn't be in this mess if he had.

 

Another tear rolled down his cheek. "That's simply not true."

 

John reached up and caught it with the pad of his thumb. Finch didn't lean into the touch, didn't react at all.

 

Oh, hell. It wasn't enough. He was finally baring his heart, like Iris had taught him, and it wasn't enough. Finch had drifted so far and sunk so deep that John feared he couldn't reach him. He tried again. "I never wanted to be John Riley in the first place. I stuck to my cover to keep you safe. And now it's as though I'm living this whole other life, when really all I want is to get back to mine."

 

"You're doing admirable work, John. You make a very fine detective." Finch was polite, formal. The compliment was imbued with a distant pride, but then again he could equally have been congratulating one of his students for passing a paper. It was like talking to a brick wall.

 

 

John released his hand, got to his feet, went to lean against a curving subway arch. Further away, he could be louder. "I should have _been there_ , Harold! For you. When I got shot by the agency where were you? Driving to my rescue, pushing me down endless morgue corridors with your bad leg to make sure I lived. When I nearly bled to death chasing down Quinn and Simmons, you found me and saved me. All you've ever done is save me and now you won't let me return the favor. If we can't...if things can't go back to the way they were, at least let me know when you're in trouble. At least let me protect you. Because as you very rightly said, the second time we met? That's all I've ever wanted to do." John was crying too, by the time he'd said his piece. He scrubbed at his damp chin with the back of a fist and struggled to look at Harold through the blur his rapidly blinking vision had become. He'd almost _lost_ him. The fact was hitting home now, despair rising up as a huge heavy weight now that the anger was spent.

 

"Alright, John. Alright." Harold said, very quietly.

 

John gasped in relief, heaving in a shaking breath. "Thank you."

 

And then Harold was out of his chair and across the space between them and John was in his arms again and it was, it was going to be okay.

 

\---

 

He tucked Harold into the handy single bed, taking down the boxing bag first, and sat up in a chair beside him, watching as the brilliant, broken man finally succumbed to sleep. He kept his fingers curled around Finch's wrist, counting his pulse. They were going to have to have a serious talk about Finch's death wish. And Harper's new employment by Ernest Thornhill, too.

 

After a while, he thought of beautiful, kind Iris, who didn't deserve to be mucked about by his endlessly complicated life. He took out his phone.

 

 _I'm truly sorry, I don't think I can do this._ He typed, and then deleted the text unsent. He'd have to tell her face to face tomorrow. It was the right thing to do.


End file.
